Back To Earth

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“Why?” asked Petri, a little surprised.

“I don’t know. I have a feeling that something is wrong.”

The device that Petri was holding began to send out a series of sounds with varying frequencies. He examined the object, with no idea what this meant. Looking up at his friend's face, he searched for some sign of an explanation, but found none. Azakis, moving cautiously, placed the sensor into the other coupling. Another series of indecipherable sounds came from the analyser. Then silence. Azakis took the device from his companion, looked closely at the results, then smiled.

“Everything's fine. We can proceed.”

Only then did Petri notice that he had stopped breathing for a while. He sighed deeply and felt an immediate sense of relaxation. However minor, a fault in the couplings would have compromised their mission irretrievably, forcing them to turn around and go back. It was the last thing they needed. They were almost there.

“I’m going to get cleaned up,” said Petri, trying to shake off a little dust. “A visit to a conduit is always like this...” and twisting his upper lip, he added “an education!”

Azakis smiled. “I’ll see you on the bridge.”

Petri called the capsule, and a moment later he was gone.

The central system announced that they had passed safely out of their orbit around Jupiter and were heading smoothly towards Earth. With a slight but rapid eye movement to the right, Azakis once again requested that his O^COM show him the route. The blue dot moving along the red line was now positioned a little further towards the Martian orbit. The count-down showed that their ETA was precisely 58 hours, and that the ship’s speed was 3,000 km/s. He was growing increasingly nervous. On the other hand, the spacecraft in which they were travelling was the first to be equipped with the new Bousen engines, whose concept was completely different from anything previously used. The designers claimed that these would be able to propel the ship at velocities close to a tenth of the speed of light. He had never dared to try this. For now, 3,000 km/s seemed more than enough for a maiden voyage.

Of the fifty-six crew members who would normally have been accommodated on board the Theos, only eight had been chosen for this first mission, including Petri and Azakis. The reasons given by the Elders were not clear. They speculated that this had been due to the nature and destination of the trip. There would be obvious difficulties and it would be better not to put too many lives at risk.

So we're expendable? What kind of talk is that? It would always end up like this. When it came to risking someone’s neck who would they put forward? Azakis and Petri.

In the end, however, their propensity for adventure, and their remarkable ability to find answers in ‘challenging’ situations, had enabled them to obtain a few concessions.

Azakis lived in an enormous building in the beautiful city of Saaran in the south of the continent, which had formerly been used as a warehouse for local Craftsmen. Because of these “concessions”, he had managed to get permission to modify it to his own taste.

The south wall had been completely replaced with a forcefield like the one used on the spacecraft, so that he could admire the wonderful view of the gulf below from his inseparable, self-moulding armchair. If necessary, however, the whole wall could change into a gigantic three-dimensional system, on which one could see as many as twelve GCS transmissions simultaneously. More than once, this sophisticated supervision and management system had enabled him to gather crucial information in advance, meaning that he could neatly resolve even the more far-reaching crises. He would not have given it up.

One entire wing of the ex-warehouse was reserved for his collection of souvenirs from various space missions over the years. Each one of them reminded him of something specific, and every time he found himself among this strange jumble of objects, he could not help being thankful for his good fortune, and especially for his faithful friend, who had saved his skin on more than one occasion.

Petri, who had also been academically outstanding, was no fan of push technology. Although able to pilot almost any kind of aircraft, and although familiar with almost every kind of weapon or local and interplanetary communications system, he preferred to rely on his instincts and manual skills to resolve the problems that presented themselves. There had been a number of times when he had quickly transformed a shapeless heap of scrap metal into a means of transport or a fearsome weapon of defence. It was remarkable. He could make almost anything he needed to. This was partly something he had inherited from his father, an ingenious Craftsman, but it was mainly due to a passion for Art. As a boy, in fact, he had always been in awe of the way that the Craftsmen were able to transform helpless matter into items of great utility and technology, whilst also creating objects of "beauty".

A loud, unpleasant and intermittent sound jolted him back to reality. The automatic proximity alert had been activated.

Nassiriyya – The hotel

It certainly wasn’t a five star hotel, but for someone who had spent weeks in a tent in the desert, even a shower could be considered a luxury. Elisa let the cold, refreshing water massage her neck and shoulders. Her body welcomed the chill, and a series of not unpleasant shivers ran down her back.

One realises how important some things are when one no longer has them.

It was more than ten minutes before she decided to get out. The vapour had steamed up the mirror, which had clearly been hung incorrectly. She tried to rectify this, but as soon as she let go it returned to its crooked position. In the end she ignored it. Wiping away the water that had settled on her with a strip of towel, she looked at herself admiringly. When she had been few years younger she had often been offered work as a model or actress. Maybe she could have been a cinema diva or a footballer’s wife, but money had never interested her much. She preferred to sweat, eat dust, study ancient scripts and visit forgotten places. For her, adventure meant the blood and emotion involved in finding an ancient artefact, unearthing some vestige from thousands of years before. Nothing else compared with this.

She drew closer to the mirror, looking at the small, accursed lines at the corners of her eyes. Her hand moved automatically to her make-up bag, from which she pulled her anti-ageing cream. “Visibly fewer wrinkles in less than one week”. She spread it carefully over her face and gazed at herself attentively. Were they claiming to perform miracles? It did say the effects would only be visible after seven days, however.

She smiled at herself, and at all the other women who passively allowed themselves to be duped by such advertising.

The clock on the wall above the bed was showing 7.40 pm. She would never be able to get ready in just twenty minutes.

She dried herself hurriedly, leaving her long, blond hair slightly wet, and stood in front of the dark wooden wardrobe, in which the few smart clothes she had managed to bring were hanging. At other times she would have taken hours to decide which outfit best suited the occasion. That evening, however, the choice was limited. Without thinking too much, she opted for a short, black dress. It was pretty, definitely sexy, but not vulgar. It had a flattering neckline that would certainly emphasise her voluptuous figure. Taking it out, she threw it onto the bed with an elegant sweep of the hand.

7.50 pm. It may have been a lady’s privilege, but she hated being late.

Looking out of the window, she saw a dark, glossy SUV right outside the hotel door. A youth dressed in military clothing, who must have been the driver, was leaning against the bonnet, and making the most of his wait by calmly smoking a cigarette.

She did her best to enhance her eyes with pencil and mascara, quickly painted some gloss on her lips. Whilst trying to spread it evenly by throwing kisses into the air, she put on her favourite earrings, struggling somewhat to find the holes again.

It was actually some time since she’d gone out for an evening. Her work took her around the world and she had never found a stable relationship with anyone. Her relationships were usually over within a few months. She had always ignored the innate maternal instinct she had felt from being a girl, but now, with the approach of biological maturity, she was becoming increasingly aware of this. Perhaps this was the time to think seriously about being part of a family.

She quickly banished the thought from her mind. She slipped on the dress, stepped into the only pair of high-heeled shoes she’d brought with her, and sprayed her best perfume onto each side of her neck with a generous movement. Silk scarf and spacious black handbag. She was ready to go. One last check in the stained mirror on the wall near the door assured her that her make-up was flawless. After a quick twirl she left the room with a satisfied expression.

The young driver, after repositioning the jaw that had dropped at the sight of Elisa walking out of the hotel like a model, threw away the second cigarette he had just lit and rushed to open her car door.

“Good evening, Doctor Hunter. Shall we go?” he asked, hesitantly.

“Good evening,” she replied, trying out her best smile. “Yes. I’m ready.”

“Thank you for the ride,” she added as she climbed into the car, knowing that her skirt would slide up and show just enough of her legs to embarrass the soldier.

She had always liked being admired.

Theos spacecraft – Proximity alert

The O^COM system rapidly materialised something in front of Azakis, a strange object whose outline was not yet clearly defined due to the low resolution obtained by the long-range viewers that were picking it up. It was definitely moving, and was heading for them. The proximity alert system estimated that the probability of impact between the Theos and the unknown object would be greater than 96% if neither altered course.

Azakis hurriedly climbed into the nearest transfer module. “Bridge,” he barked curtly at the automatic control system.

Five seconds later, the door opened with a hiss and there, on the huge central screen of the control room, was displayed the blurred image of the object on a collision course for the ship.

Almost at the same time, a breathless Petri rushed out of another door.

“What the devil is going on?” he asked. “We shouldn’t be encountering meteorites in this area,” he exclaimed, staring at the big screen.

“I don’t think it’s a meteorite.”

“If it’s not a meteorite, then what is it?” demanded Petri, visibly anxious.

“If we don't change course immediately you’ll see for yourself, when we find ourselves splattered all over the bridge.”

Petri fumbled with the navigation controls and set a slight variation in the previously planned trajectory.

“Impact in 90 seconds,” said the warm, female voice of the proximity alert system, without emotion. “Distance from object: 276,000 kilometres and falling.”

“Petri, do something! And do it quick!” shouted Azakis.

“I am doing something, but that thing’s moving too quickly.”

The estimated impact probability, visible on the screen to the right of the object, was slowly dropping. 90%, 86%, 82%.

“We're not going to make it,” whispered Azakis.

“My dear friend, the ‘mysterious object’ that can smash up my ship has yet to be invented,” assured Petri with a mischievous smile.

With a quick manoeuvre that momentarily threw them both off balance, Petri reversed the polarity on the two Bousen engines. The ship shuddered for several moments. It was only the sophisticated artificial gravity system compensating instantly for this alteration that stopped the crew from being flung against the wall in front.

“Nice move,” called Azakis, giving his friend a sharp slap on the shoulder. “But how are we going to stop this spinning?” The objects around them had already begun to rise and were whirling around the room.

“Just a moment,” said Petri, who was still pressing buttons and fiddling with controls.

“I just need to...” Beads of sweat were slowly seeping from his forehead.

“To open the...” he went on, while everything in the room continued to fly around out of control. Even the two of them were beginning to lift off the floor. The artificial gravity system could no longer compensate for the immense centrifugal force that had been generated. They were becoming increasingly lighter.

“...Tailgate three!” shouted Petri finally, as every object in the room fell to the ground at the same time. Azakis was prevented from making a dull moan by a heavy refuse container that hit him between the third and fourth ribs. Petri fell from the height at which he was hovering onto the console, landing in an unnatural and ridiculous posture.

The impact probability estimate had fallen to 18% and was still decreasing rapidly.

“Everything okay?” gasped Azakis, trying to conceal the pain in his right side.

“Yes, yes. I’m fine, I’m fine,” replied Petri, trying to get onto his feet.

An instant later Azakis was contacting the crew, who promptly informed their commander that there was no damage to any property and no one wounded.

The manoeuvre they had just performed had deflected the Theos slightly off course and the pressure drop caused by opening the gate had been immediately counterbalanced by the automated system.

6%, 4%, 2%.

“Distance from object: 60,000 km,” continued the voice.

They both held their breath, waiting to reach the 50,000 km distance, beyond which the short-range sensors would be triggered. These moments seemed interminable.

“Distance from object: 50,000 km. Short-range sensors activated.”

The blurred image in front of them suddenly came into sharp focus. The object appearing on the screen was distinct, every detail visible. The two astronauts looked at one another, their eyes wide open, each searching the face of the other for an answer.

“Unbelievable!” they exclaimed in unison.

Nassiriya – Masgouf restaurant

Colonel Hudson was nervously pacing up and down the hallway in front of the main dining area of the restaurant. Virtually every minute, he checked the tactical watch he always wore on his left wrist. He didn’t even take this off to go to sleep. He was as excited as a teenager on a first date.

To help pass the time he had ordered a Martini on the rocks with a slice of lemon. The moustached barman watched him from beneath his thick eyebrows while lazily drying a set of long-stemmed glasses.

Alcohol was not permitted in Islamic countries. That evening, however, an exception had been made. The small restaurant had been completely reserved for the two of them.

As soon as he’d finished his conversation with Doctor Hunter the Colonel had contacted the owner, requesting the Masgouf house special, from which the restaurant took its name. Because of the difficulty in obtaining the main ingredient, which was tiger sturgeon, he had wanted to make sure that the establishment could provide it. Knowing that it required at least two hours of preparation, he had insisted on its being cooked unhurriedly, to absolute perfection.

As his camouflage uniform was inappropriate for the evening, he had decided to dust off his dark Valentino suit, which he combined with a silk regiment-style, grey and white striped tie. The black shoes, polished as only a soldier knew how, were also Italian. The tactical watch certainly had nothing to do with this, but he could not have done without it.

“They're on their way”. The crackling voice came from the receiver, similar to a mobile phone, which he kept in his breast pocket. He switched it off and looked out through the window.

The big, dark car swerved to avoid a crumpled bag that was suspended in the breeze and rolling lazily along the street. With a quick manoeuvre it drew up right outside the restaurant entrance. The driver allowed the dust raised by the vehicle to settle back onto the ground, then cautiously got out of the car. The “all clear” came from the headset concealed in his right ear. Carefully, he glanced at all the previously agreed positions, until he was certain that he had identified each one of his fellow soldiers who, in combat gear, would take care of the security of the two diners for the duration of the dinner.

The area was secure.

He opened the rear door and gently held out his right hand to help his passenger out.

Elisa thanked the soldier and elegantly stepped out of the car. She looked upwards as she filled her lungs with the clear evening air, pausing for an instant to contemplate the magnificent view that only the starry sky of the desert could provide.

The colonel waited for a moment, unable to decide whether to go out and meet her or stay inside and wait for her to come in. In the end he chose to remain seated, in the hope that this would make him appear less nervous. Then, with feigned indifference, he walked over to the bar, perched on a high stool and, resting his left elbow on the dark wooden surface, downed the last drop of the beverage that remained in his glass, watching as the lemon seed fell slowly to the bottom.

The door opened with a slight squeak and the military driver looked around, checking that everything was in order. The colonel gave a slight nod, and the escort showed Elisa in, inviting her to walk ahead with a generous sweep of the hand.

“Good evening, Doctor Hunter,” said the colonel, rising from his stool and displaying his best smile. “I trust that the journey was comfortable?”

“Good evening, colonel,” replied Elisa, with an equally dazzling smile. “Very nice, thank you. Your driver was very kind.”

“You can go now, thank you,” he told the driver in a voice of authority. With a military salute, the young man turned on his heels and disappeared into the night.

“Can I offer you an aperitif, professor?” asked the colonel, calling the moustached barman over with a wave of the hand.

“Whatever you’re having,” replied Elisa without hesitating, pointing to the glass of Martini that the colonel was still holding. Then, she added, “Please call me Elisa, colonel. I’d prefer it.”

“Certainly. And you can call me Jack. “Colonel” is just for my soldiers.”

This is a good start, thought the colonel.

The barman skilfully poured the second Martini and handed it to the new arrival. Lifting her glass, she clinked it with that of the colonel.

“Cheers,” she said in a lively tone, taking a sip.

“I must say you’re looking splendid this evening, Elisa,” said the colonel, running his eyes quickly up and down his guest.”

“Well, you don’t look so bad yourself. A uniform may have its charms, but I prefer you like this,” she said, smiling devilishly and tilting her head to one side.

Somewhat embarrassed, Jack turned his attention towards the contents of the glass he had in his hand. He stared at it for a while, then threw the whole lot down in one gulp.

“Shall we go to our table?”

“Good idea,” exclaimed Elisa. “I’m starving.”

“I’ve ordered the house special. I hope you’ll like it.”

“Don’t tell me you persuaded them to cook the Masgouf!” she asked, stupefied, widening her lovely green eyes as much as she could. “It’s almost impossible to find the tiger sturgeon at this time of year.”

“Only the best for a guest like yourself,” said the colonel smugly, on seeing that his choice seemed to have gone down well. He held out his right hand politely and invited her to follow him. Still wearing the mischievous smile, she let him lead her to the table.

The venue was attractively decorated in a style that was typical of the region. The lighting was warm and subdued, and the enormous curtains extending from the ceiling almost covered the walls. A large carpet with Eslimi Toranjdar designs covered virtually the entire floor, whilst other, smaller ones had been placed in the corners of the room, as if to frame the whole. Of course, according to tradition the meal should have been consumed whilst lying on the soft, comfortable cushions on the floor, but as a typical westerner the colonel had preferred a more “normal” table. Even this was carefully laid, the colours chosen for the tablecloth matching the rest of the building perfectly. Background music, in which a Darbuka

with a Maqsum